Just A Little Luck
by Insomniac Connor
Summary: Amanda Benson didn't want to move to Dark Falls. She didn't want to be ignored by the neighbors and the entire school. She certainly didn't want to fall head over heels for a strange and infuriatingly complicated boy name Ray. Amanda/Ray
1. Chapter 1

Just A Little Luck

1

First of all, Amanda Benson _really_ didn't want to go to Dark Falls but Mr. Benson had gotten a call about some property down there, from an uncle she never met, and they'd just sold their old house.

She'd given up hope of returning to her old life, her old school and house, with a stiff upper lip, unlike her brother, who was kicking her seat like a petulant toddler.

Josh whined the entire way about being hungry/tired/thirsty/hot/cold and about everything else under the Sun.

Scowling; she twisted in her seat and hissed, "Shut up already!"

"Dad, Amanda told me to shut up," her little brother shrieked, kicking the back of the seat as Petey, the family dog, whined in the back. Her seat belt dug into her throat, rubbing the skin raw.

Mrs. Benson sighed heavily and Mr. Benson patted her shoulder as he turned. The asphalt beneath the tires changed to gravel. "Josh, _please_ be quiet," their mother begged in a thick voice.

Amanda nodded.

Josh fumed and crossed his arms, singing horribly off-key to incite migraines.

"Can we _please_ strap him to the roof of the car?" the girl muttered under her breath as she crossed her arms, ignoring the hair whipping around her face.

"I'm afraid that's child abuse," Mrs. Benson murmured, leaning forward and squinting out the windshield and, then, Mr. Benson added, "Unfortunately." He gave Amanda a smile, which she returned reluctantly.

Moving to Dark Falls wasn't exactly on her To Do list but she'd eventually gotten over it, unlike her brother, who fought tooth and nail against getting into the car, thrown his McDonald's fries all over the floor, and purposefully spilled his milkshake all over Mr. Benson's windbreaker. The car still smelled like stale fries and chocolate milk.

"Grow up, why don't you?" Amanda had spat at him, glaring and then Josh had shot back, "Why don't you get some actual friends?" That made her turn back around with a clenched jaw and burning face. It wasn't a secret that she didn't have as many friends as him but, if they ever argued, he made it a point to rub salt in the wound.

Amanda watched the blur of trees absently, mesmerized by the light and dark greens that merged together in one continuous string, a cheek in her propped up, upturned hand. As much as she hated to admit it, there was something charming about this place. So different than the cookie-cutter houses of her suburban neighborhood, with their over watered lawns and lawn ornaments and sticky little kids running around after whatever ball they had.

"I'm sure you'll love it here," Mrs. Benson muttered, slowing the car down slightly as her husband placed a hand on Amanda's head, ruffling her hair.

She rolled her eyes at her father's antics but stayed quiet.

Josh, however, felt the need to belt his opinion. "I hate it here!" he cried loudly, "It's too hot! And it smells like animal pens! They aren't even any kids here, I bet!"

"Will you stop thinking only of yourself for, like, five minutes?" Amanda snapped, losing her cool.

Josh quieted for a moment. "You suck," he said calmly before reaching down and throwing what was left in his milkshake cup at her.

Chocolate slush splashed in her face, dripping in her hair, down her face.

Mrs. Benson slammed on the breaks and the car lurched in the huge aisle between the lines of dreary, dark houses. Droplets of milkshake splattered on the windshield.

"That's _it_ , Joshua," Mr. Benson snapped as he ripped off his seat belt and threw open the car door. "I'm sick of you acting like a little brat," he hissed as he opened the door, grabbing his son's arm.

"Go find the public bathroom. Can't miss it," Mrs. Benson said, getting out of the car to calm her angry husband.

Amanda nodded weakly as she scrambled and heard a loud crack. Josh was holding his cheek and Mrs. Benson was tugging Mr. Benson away urgently.

Amanda looked away.

It took a bit of stumbling and wiping sugar out of her eyes but she eventually found the public bathroom of Dark Falls, located a few feet down the road. Dust puffed up from the wooden porch as she pulled open the old, crooked door and squinted. The tiles were chipped and cracked, the door hanging off the hinges, and the windows were dingy, leaving the bathroom dimly lit. The water ran clear, though and she eagerly splashed it on her face.

"You okay?" A hand touched her back as she splashed the water into her eyes, blinking away the brimming tears. Getting milkshake in your eyes really hurt.

"F-fine." When she lifted her head, the hand had drifted up, ghosting through her sticky, clumpy hair.

The boy behind her was tall and lean, with dangerously high cheekbones and ashy blonde hair. "You have milkshake in your hair," he stated, dropping the clump he'd been holding between two fingers.

"Yeah. My younger brother…" She trailed off when she noticed his eyes. The most pale shade of blue she'd ever seen, like arctic waters; instead of tiny pupils, they were huge and black.

"Amanda?" It was Mrs. Benson leaning in.

"Oh, hi, Mom." Amanda smiled.

Mr. Benson stood hesitantly behind his wife, Josh sulking behind him with a tear-stained face.

"Who's this?" Mrs. Benson gestured to the blonde boy.

"Oh." Amanda's breath left her in a short rasp.

"I'm Ray. I live here with my family. I'm guessing you're Charles's brother?" the blonde boy said, extending a hand.

She blinked hard. She hadn't even realized he'd moved.

"Yes. This is my daughter, Amanda, and my son, Josh and my wife."

Ray's grasp looked strong as he pumped her dad's hand firmly. When her dad drew his hand back, he blinked hard and flexed his fingers like he'd been hurt.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Benson, Mrs. Benson. Mr. Dawes has been waiting for you. I can take you to him, if you'd like," Ray said with a sharp smile, all sharp teeth and charming air.

The look he shot Amanda sent chills down her spine, her stomach tightening; her face flamed violently and she lowered her eyes quickly, staring down at the cracked tiles.

"Follow me." He bowed like a prince greeting royalty and held the door open for them, ushering them all outside. When Amanda passed through the doorway, Ray's hand brushed her back, trailing a line down the path of her spine and resting just above the waistband of her jeans. She let out a little yelp of surprise.

"Everything okay, Amanda?" Mr. Benson was looking at her with worry in his familiar brown eyes.

"Y-yeah. Just spooked myself, ran through a cobweb," she muttered while shooting Ray a look from under her eyelashes.

He looked completely and utterly innocent, as though he hadn't attempted to grope her with her father right there. "Cobwebs," Ray laughed—no, _snickered_ softly in her ear, his cool breath tickling her skin and making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

There was something off about this guy—no, this entire _town._


	2. Chapter 2

Just A Little Luck

2

The street stretching out in front of them was deathly silent but Ray seemed content to fill it with his endless knowledge of his little town of Dark Falls, his voice echoing throughout the empty streets. His voice itself was very smooth and quiet but he didn't have to yell to be heard; he it carried and projected what he wanted to say too much concentration.

"And in 1994, the chemical plant shut down." Ray's pale eyes flashed to them.

"C-chemical plant?" Amanda found her voice and watched as he squinted at her. She felt a rush roll down her spine, dangerously as he met her eyes.

A dark-as-molasses smile graced his mouth, curving his cheeks up and he looked drop-dead gorgeous. "Yeah. A lot of the folks lost their jobs, but they found new ones, online. I'm a writer, for instance."

"But you're only twelve!" Josh cried out.

Ray shot him a quick glare. "Doesn't mean I can't work," he replied calmly, tugging his hood over his face as the clouds shifted; he winced as the sun came out. When he noticed their strange looks, he smiled shortly.

"A lot of families in Dark Falls have very, _very_ sensitive skin so being in the sun isn't good for us," he explained, shrugging a shoulder. Amanda nodded in understanding.

"If I stay out too long, I just get tan," Josh butted.

She glowered at him darkly.

Ray chose to ignore him as they came to a stop at an old, decrepit house.

Vines crawled up the sides and the grass was dead, ankle-tall. The windows were boarded or broken; the steps were loose and some of the porch's planks were missing or broken or rotted through. It reminded Amanda of one of those old, broken down plantation houses she'd seen on the drive here.

"Ew," Josh whispered loud enough to be heard.

Mrs. Benson smacked him lightly.

"It's so… _vintage_ ," Amanda finally said.

Ray flashed her a smile.

"It's been here since the seventies," he said, placing a cool hand on her bare arm. When she jumped in shock, he offered a sheepish grin. "Sorry. I have the world's _worst_ circulation in my hands." He waggled long, spidery fingers.

"I-it's okay." The words tasted thick and sour in her mouth; it was obviously a lie.

"Well, I've gotta go. Hate to cut the tour short but, well, I've got some chores to do, otherwise I'm dead meat." He laughed and it sounded hypnotic. "See you around, maybe?"

Amanda found herself asking, leaning close to him. "Probably."

He gave that charming smile and she felt her insides squeeze tight and fiercely, stomach rushing up to meet her ribcage.

He pointed suddenly, and everyone but Amanda looked that way, watching. "I'll see you most _definitely,_ " he murmured as he slipped in close, pressing his cold hand against her cheek and her face flamed.

"W-Wh—" she sputtered as he grinned, teeth flashing.

"Hello, there!" cried a new voice as the figure jogged closer and closer. It was a tall, young man with wavy curls and a dimple in his chin. His baby blue suit hugged his figure and accented his attractive features and physique.

"Oh, Ray! Thank you for showing them to house. I'm Mr. Dawes but call me Comton." His smile and accent made Mrs. Benson blush.

"I'll catch up with you guys later." Ray was staring at Amanda when he said that and she felt her cheeks warm.

When she looked away to see Mr. Dawes ushering her family closer to the house, she felt the air whoosh passed her and when she turned back around, Ray was gone, heading down the street.

She watched his head bob for the longest time before forcing herself to follow Petey, their dog, into the house. His fur was on end and he kept snarling at Mr. Dawes, who blotted absently at his forehead and laughed nervously about dogs not liking this place—something in the water, he said. "Well, Petey _has_ been stuck in the car for a long while," Josh admitted, lying a hand on the dog's back and trying to calm him down.

They went through the house, Mr. Dawes pointing out the bathrooms and bedrooms.

Amanda called the room with the huge bay window and bookcase, skipping out on the rest of the tour to grab her things from the van. The street was deathly silent still and all the houses looked desolate and dark.

A sharp, cold fear sliced down the nerve endings in her spine as she shivered, despite the muggy heat of summer, and wrapped her arms around herself.

"You're just imagining things," she muttered to herself, rubbing her arms to rid the chills.

As much as she wanted to believe it _was_ just her imagination, she couldn't shake the feeling that this town was dead, or, worst case scenario, disturbed. Maybe it was a very private community, too shy. Maybe they were all handicapped and couldn't greet the new neighbors. Amanda pressed her fingertips into the sides of the box marked "Amy's clothes" and pushed with her heels, struggling to lift it up.

After a bit of wobbling, she managed to maneuver the box into her palms and stumbled back. The weight pressed into her wrists as she felt something cold and blunt run down her spine.

She dropped the box, clothes spilling out onto the pavement, and wheeled around, ready to yell or stomp or see someone. The only thing that was there were a few dead leaves, swirling in the breeze.

"You're nuts."

She spun back around to see Josh standing next to the driver's side, holding Petey's leash and letting him pee in the grass. The old Lab then proceeded to sniff the entire span of lawn, making Josh even more exasperated and he flopped down on the ground, watching the dog sniff and sniff, rooting through the grass.

"I'm not crazy," Amanda huffed, squatting down beside the box and began to fold the shirts that had spilled out carefully. Josh called it OCD; she called it being tidy, not a slob.

"I watched you. You kept looking around and spinning from looking into the car to the house across the street. That's weird, even for you," Josh stated as Petey looped his leash around the mailbox and he was forced to get to his feet to untie the dog.

"I thought I saw someone," she argued, shaking off the dirt from her sleep t-shirt and folding it into the box.

"There's no one in this desert," he whined, tugging on Petey's leash, "and I don't have anyone to play baseball with." They both glanced down at his baseball-scraped knees and she got to her feet.

Hoisting the box back up, she said, calmly, "Don't forget to pick up after him. I don't think any of us are keen on stepping in dog crap first thing in the morning."

He stuck his tongue out.

"Don't forget to actually get some friends." She felt her face flush, spreading from the bridge of her nose and out, reaching the tips of her ears and cursed her uncanny ability to blush to easily. Thankfully, with her Hispanic heritage, her red face didn't show up.

"Whatever." She lifted a shoulder to show she didn't care and headed towards the house. She decided to call it, with inspiration from the town and it's lack of activity, Dead House. Unfortunately for her, that's exactly what it was.


	3. Chapter 3

Just a Little Luck

3

It was unbearably hot outside as Amanda walked Petey down the street, picking up after him when need be.

The summer sun blazed down on her, burning the backs of her arms and the back of her neck. A wave of dry, hot air pushed her hair away from her neck and Petey sniffed at a patch of grass.

"Come on, Petey. There's nothing there," she said, tugging at his leash as she tried to keep him walking.

Abruptly, the fur on the backs of his shoulders stood on end, bristling, his black lips peeling back away from his carved teeth. Saliva dripped from his jowls, long thick strings, foamy.

"Petey!"

He yanked at the leash, ripping it from her wrist and darting across the street.

A chill slid down her spine. "Come here!" Amanda screamed, scrambling after him.

The grass turned into dead leaves and twigs under her sneakers, crackling loud. The open sidewalk slid into the sharp prickles of pine trees and the heavy canopy blocked out the burning sun. Tree roots and pinecones threatened to send her toppling but she managed all right, stumbling quite a few times. She smacked her knee, scraping off the skin; her elbows were bleeding and strands of hair stuck to the burnt skin of the back of her neck.

"Petey!" she cried, stumbling over a tree root. Catching her balance on the edge of the tree's trunk, Amanda peered around and brushed her bangs out of her eyes. She caught a glimpse of his gold fur in the brush, tail sticking out of a bush, and she stepped closer.

"Petey," she said so as not to scare him anymore.

His head lifted, lip curled back, and she froze.

Between his legs was a pair of human legs and sneakers, flailing slightly.

She scrambled over, clapping her hands once or twice, and Petey's head whipped up, turning towards her. He barked a few times at whomever he'd pinned.

"Oh my god, I'm so—" she started, grabbing his leash, and pulled him between her legs, pushing his backside for him to sit. He strained and snarled at the boy on the ground, flecks of saliva scattering off his ivory teeth.

"Oh, hey," Ray flashed a crooked smile, lighting up his pale blue eyes. He pushed himself up to his elbows, glancing down at the dog, which quieted immediately upon his gaze, and then he was on his feet, knees popping, bones creaking like an old machine. Amanda stepped back, watching him dust off his back and legs fluidly.

"I'm so sorry," she apologized as Petey strained on the leash, fur bristled, but remaining quiet, eyes trained on Ray's figure.

"He's never like this," she admitted.

"Is that so?" He was next to her now, fingers gripping her elbow tightly, almost painful. He was close enough that she could smell him, cool like a river, damp like a cavern.

"No. He's normally really, _really_ friendly. Maybe it's—"

As if he'd read her mind, he spoke. "The town? The people?" His smile was mocking as he leaned closer, his eyes glittering.

"Y-yeah." When she swallowed, his gaze followed her throat.

Suddenly, it felt on hundred degrees hotter. "I-I gotta get home," she stammered, stumbling back.

A hard look fell across his face for a split second, a furrow in his brow, and then his white face smoothed out, marble again.

"I'll walk you home," he said.

Irritation simmered a little at the insinuation that she couldn't find her way back without him.

"I can find my own way back," she told him a little more sharply than need be, and tugged at Petey's leash.

Confusion flashed across his face. "I was just trying to be polite," he stated calmly, shrinking into the huge jacket he wore despite the smoldering heat, and from within the shadows, his eyes flashed.

Amanda felt a shiver run down her spine and tugged Petey closer to the edge of the wooded area.

"I-I really have to go," she sputtered, anxious to get back to her family and away from him.

His ice eyes blinked. "Alright." He turned on his heel and walked the opposite direction, deeper into the woods, the tense set of his shoulders jutting out with every stride.

She watched him a little longer than necessary before she tore her eyes away.

* * *

Josh dribbled the basketball up and down the length of the driveway, his t-shirt darkened with sweat as he shot for above the garage door, at the spot of brickwork. His hair clung to his temples, the back of his sunburnt neck.

"Why don't you go do something useful? Like, I dunno, unpack? Help Mom and Dad?" Amanda said as she walked up behind him, Petey nearly dislocating her shoulder when he bolted for Josh.

"They're in there with Mr. What's-His-Face," he explained, snatching the basketball out of mid-air and then he tucked it neatly against his side, pressed into his hip. He pulled his shirt up and wiped at his face.

Amanda wrinkled her nose at his movement and stepped around him.

Petey whined, tugging at his leash to bound up the crooked, loose steps.

The door creaked open slowly, as though in slow motion, and then a tall figure stepped out. It was a man. He had his head turned to speak to her mother, who held the door open, his curls gleaming like wheat stalks.

Petey's fur bristled, on end, his ivory teeth bared and a loud, deep growl bubbled out of his throat.

The man twisted and his pale face became even paler, milky-white now.

He smiled slowly, teeth flashing down at Amanda as he spoke, "Hello. I was just having a word with your parents."

Petey lunged, making her stumble and then she planted her heels into the porch, yanking him back. He snarled and barked; thick strings foamy saliva sprayed from his black lips, splattering onto the wood planks below.

Mr. Dawes smiled nervously and hedged around the dog, which followed in a circle and snarled again, lurching furiously. He skipped the broken steps and headed down the walkway, ruffling Josh's wet hair as he continued down the pathway.

"Petey!" admonished Mrs. Benson, grabbing his muzzle. Petey hackles were still raised, his brown eyes locked on the man's figure until he disappeared into the distance, and then he relaxed, back to the good, old dog they knew and loved.

Mrs. Benson shook her head.

Amanda felt sick.


	4. Chapter 4

Just a Little Luck

4

It became very apparent that Amanda didn't fit in at school, once it started. Nobody else wore shorts and t-shirts, letting the skin touch them; nobody else wore their hair up either.

With her tan skin and stringy hair, she didn't fit in with the pale skinned, voluminous-haired doll girls that paraded in skirts and blouses that covered them up from the sun. Even the teachers had the same pale skin and gaped at her during the first day.

Crossing her legs, she felt her face turn red under the gawking stares, splotchy with red patches all over.

The guy next to her stabbed the pink eraser of her pencil into the red blush on her forearm. The kid's hair was so short, it was like a shadow over his skull, and he had the palest, thinnest eyebrows Amanda had ever seen. The entire class, he just kept nudging her with the flat end of his eraser, digging it into her skin, over and over, an awed expression on his face.

"Stop," she said to him after scooting her desk away from his.

He looked up once, vacancy written all over his face as though he was as high as the clouds, and the continued to dig the eraser into her skin.

The blush darkened into a red irritation, flaky and patchy.

"Hey, buddy," said a voice and she looked over to find Ray scowling at the kid. "Knock it off before I knock _your_ head off." There was a hard biting edge in his velvet voice that she hadn't been there before, when they spoke months ago, in the summer heat, her skin peeling, Petey snarling and dripping saliva everywhere.

This was the first she'd seen him since then and his hair was short now, not quite shoulder-length but ear-length, curls at the nape of his neck. He looked sickly, pasty pale instead of porcelain, and the spiderweb of veins underneath his skin, translucent, was painfully blue, ultrablue, like the ocean in the Caribbean. His eyes were paler, more like the color of lilacs and lacecap hydrangeas and less like robin eggs.

The eraser kid took one glance and his entire face went chalk-white as he scooted away, chair scraping the linoleum floor, all noise and heavy breathing. In short, the kid looked ready to pee himself.

Ray's lips peeled back in a satisfied smile, no teeth, as he leaned into Amanda's personal space.

When she breathed, it smelled like deodorant and mint gum and boy sweat. It was overwhelming and distracting. His arm touched hers, icy through the fabric of his sweatshirt, and she jumped at the shock of his cool skin.

He laughed in her face.

"I'm sorry," he apologized once his laughter subsided. He looked painfully handsome, head cocked to one side, eyes half-lidded.

A dimple carved a hole into his cheek. "You're just so easily frightened. It's like having a little rabbit." He shifted and his knee bumped her hip. His skin was far too chilly, even through jeans, to be considered normal.

"Quite the complexion you've got there," he said, tugging on a piece of her hair gently and inhaled deeply, as though he was trying to breathe her in, all at once, marveling at her with his eyes closed.

She tried to lean away as inconspicuously as she could, but unfortunately she wasn't doing a very good job. When he opened his eyes, she found herself pinned to her seat. He had this hungry, desperate look plastered on his face.

A cold panic rolled through her, bitter and icy, and she hugged herself around the waist. She crossed and re-crossed her legs and pinched the baby fat on her hip. The pain didn't loosen her panic and she _pinch, pinch, pinched_ hard, until the skin turned pink, brighter than the tip of the Eyebrowless Kid's eraser. Heat swelled to the pinched area and she rubbed it away, soothing the sharp little cramp from pinching it hard enough to break the skin. A pocket of hysteria opened up in her chest, wide and gaping and little black spiders with the words hysteria for legs crawled out, swarming her thighs and legs.

Beside her, Eyebrowless Kid was talking in hushed whispers to the other freakishly pale kids and froze when they saw her looking.

"You okay?" Ray's voice was too close, right against her ear, and she nodded. Clenched her jaw against the chattering teeth that would follow because his hand was on her leg—her _bare_ leg—and goosebumps were popping all over her body, her arms and her neck and her legs, little hairs sticking on end.

Kids were walking around, going back and forth to grab supplies from the project area at the far wall and with every pass, a gust of artic air rushed at Amanda.

She wrapped her arms around herself and gave an extra-sneaky pinch as she jotted down a couple of quick ideas. They had to write or draw something related to Edgar Allen Poe's _The Pit and the Pendulum_.

Amanda stole a glance to her left to see the familiar blonde-haired boy getting up, headed for the supply table.

Stacks of neat poster paper with alternating stacks of magazines covered the table; a huge cardboard box of Crayola markers and sharpies sat right next to them. Glue sticks and scissors, the sharp, teacher-only kind that your parents tell you no to run with, stuck out of a little, plastic blue cup emblazoned with "Night Light's Poetry Slam."

The brunette let her eyes follow Ray's smooth, almost effortless gait across the room, his hair barely shifting even when some frilly-clothed girl bumped into him and made a big show of laughing about it, full teeth on display, twirling her hair, the whole shebang.

Amanda stared down at her paper, where her pen tip sat, drilling a hole into the sheet, and tries to think. _Him falling. Good. One arm—no, bend it more. Ragged clothes. Okay. Good. Another arm, maybe, outstretched towards him?_

"Wow, you're really good at drawing," said Eyebrowless Kid beside her.

Amanda blinked and looked down at her faint, messy sketch. A gaunt-faced boy was falling backwards towards an open door, reaching out for the arm on the other side of the paper, panic clear on his face. The only thing wrong with it, per say, was the boy falling look a lot like Ray.

She lifted her eyes to find those lacecap hydrangea eyes staring at her.


	5. Chapter 5

Just a Little Luck

5

By the end of the week, Amanda was already aching for summer, the burn of the sun on her skin, blistering the surface and flushing her cheeks with blood. Her skin, permanently pink from spending three months every day outdoors and foregoing sunscreen all the time, constantly peeled off in little flakes that got all over her clothes; the other kids always made sure to point it out.

Ray never really said much, but he'd always look at her with those lacecap eyes, pale as robin eggs, unwavering; he'd make sure to always be touching her somehow, whether it be his hand on her shoulder while he draped his arm across the back of her chair or his elbow touching hers while they wrote notes.

It was unnerving, and every touch made her heart beat faster, threatening to rise out of her mouth when she spoke, his shockingly cold skin touching her, stroking her arm or brushing the hair away from her shoulder.

He made her a nervous wreck, in all honesty, and it was pretty obvious he knew it. He'd stare at her with those hydrangea eyes, lidded with satiny curtains for eyelids, framed by pale eyelashes, and smile, watching her reactions, like it amused him to no end.

She couldn't tell whether it pissed her off or scared her; all she knew is that one look, one touch, and she was gone, floating on some weird high, a thrill strumming through her body, whether it be bliss or fear.

"This isn't exactly the weather you wear so many layers in," Ray said to her one day when she showed up in jeans and three shirts (a long sleeved one, a t-shirt, and then a sweatshirt on top) and a looping scarf.

When she looked around, she was surprised to find that the other kids around her were dressed for far, far warmer weather in loose t-shirts and ankle-bearing skirts, showing off nails in flip-flops.

Even _Ray_ wasn't wearing his bulky winter coat anymore; in fact, he wore a t-shirt with a faded logo on the chest and jeans with holes in the knees, pulling off the rumpled façade with a breezy confidence, his hair wild and sticking up in tufts all over his head like he hadn't ever owned a brush.

She stared and unwound the scarf. "It's fifty degrees outside," she said incredulously, her eyes wide; in the summer months, they'd dressed like her, bundled to the tips of their heads, and acted like it was absolutely normal.

Ray brushed his curls away from his face, out of his eyes, and crossed his arms over his chest. The t-shirt stretched taught in the sleeves, tight against his biceps. He leaned back in his chair, on two legs, one arm draped across the back of his chair, smiling half-heartedly over his shoulder, his body facing forward and his head twisted towards her.

"All of you are crazy," she told him, peeling off her sweatshirt; when she untangled herself from the folds of heavy fabric, he wasn't smiling anymore.

His lips were drawn in a tight line, every muscle in his face completely still as though he were a statue; underneath the pallor of his skin, he looked green-grey, about to be sick. "We aren't crazy," he hissed through suddenly clenched teeth, a fire burning behind the ocean of his eyes, making them electric, ultra blue.

"The sun isn't good for our skin, burns it severely. Ugly blisters, too. As the days get shorter and shorter during winter, lots of clouds roll in. Not a lot of sunshine. Plus, the cold doesn't bother us; we're from cold places like Alaska and New York." He shrugged, but the motion was choppy and jagged, full of repressed emotion.

"It's not crazy," the girl who'd flirted with Ray on the first day, with spiky hair and full lips and a bubbly smile, spat, her contempt cutting Amanda to the core.

"I-I—" The brunette attempted to apologize but the flirty girl cut her off with a sharp look.

"It's just how we are. It's not like an outsider like _you_ would understand. Ray and I have been friends for _years_. All of us have. You just don't get it. _We're_ family, and what _family_ does isn't _crazy_."

Each word was like a stab straight to Amanda's chest and she half-expected a puddle of blood where she stood. A gaping invisible wound flared open, tearing apart her ribcage. Standing there, alone, not a single friend, while some bitch was tearing her down was painful. Razors heated on a bed of flames, tearing open her skin. Glass shards embedded in the soft flesh of her belly, slithering deep, too deep for the doctors to take out.

"Josephine," Ray snarled, his voice low and controlled, an artic chill in his tone.

The girl, Josephine, blinked innocently. "She needs to learn her place, Ray."

Amanda reeled backwards, and tripped over the edge of a desk leg; the ground slipped out from under her feet and she smacked into the tiles hard, hard enough to knock any breath in her lungs away, and tears stung her eyes, flowing freely, not just from humiliation but also from pain.

Black stars burst behind her eyes, raining down from the tops of her vision and floating down. Forcing herself to breathe through her nose, she sat up gingerly, and glanced around.

All eyes were on her, staring. No one made a sound, or a move, to help her to feet. The sea of pale faces was a sight to see, each one devoid of emotion aside from Ray, who looked surprisingly angry and wouldn't look at her.

The teacher came in then, who'd ran to grab some new copies of the work, and asked Amanda why she was on the floor.

"Tripped," the girl managed to spit out and slid into her seat, more determined than ever to stay out these freaks ways.

She sat at her desk, pressed against the right side of her desk, as far away from Ray as possible, cold metal against her leg, seeping through the denim. Her jaw ached with how tight she clenched it as she stared vacantly ahead, ignoring the growing headache and the tears that threatened to fall.

 _I'm done with him, with her, with all of you creeps,_ she told herself firmly, and felt a little part of her slump in exhaustion. The other parts struggled to keep up with the lesson, while a tiny, fractured part nursed her bruised ego with ambrosia and a Band-Aid.

When the bell rang, she all but ran out the door, faster than the other kids and made sure to disappear into the crowd.


	6. Chapter 6

Just a Little Luck

6

The kids at school didn't like her at all. They pointed at her skin, sunburnt and peeling from the summer still, and whispered about her clothes, all winter appropriate with long sleeves, jeans, and scarves. Even the teachers stared at her openly, and tittered about how strange her family was. Amanda felt like a freak.

Ray didn't speak to her after the incident in class, and there weren't any clubs for her to join. Cliques were formed but she wasn't able to squeeze into any of them—didn't put her hair in curls, wear long, Victorian-era dresses or listen to the same music—so she was pretty much friendless.

Every day it was the same: get up, choke down breakfast, pretend that she wasn't dying of solitude in class, eat lunch by herself, class again, and then home, where she did her homework up in her room quietly, ate her dinner, and went to bed. With every rise and set of the sun, the pattern was like clockwork.

About a month into the school year, fall officially burning into the tip of winter, Amanda stumbled across the tombstones. Late in the post-school afternoon, with the sun blotted out by the clouds and a chilly breeze picking up from the east, she explored the woods behind her house, dry leaves crunching underneath her sneakers, hiding dips and roots.

As soon as she'd gotten home, her face splotchy with a flush of embarrassment hidden underneath her russet complexion, she changed into a v-neck long-sleeved shirt and jeans. With a quick kiss to Mrs. Benson's cheek, she bounded off to the woods—her newfound safe haven from the snarky comments from Josh as he went to his friends' house—and picked up a huge stick to poke around in the leaves.

She wasn't entirely sure how she ended up in the little canal, dry during the fall and blistering summer, but her butt was bruised and her elbow was skinned raw, a dusting of dry dirt stuck to the bloody skin.

The sun was blazing above her, having eased its way out from behind a cluster of thick, nearly opaque clouds, and warmed her face and her eyelids. She sighed heavily and draped her arm across her eyes, blocking out the sun.

In the distance, a dog barked but the sound echoed across the quiet roads. Despite kids being out and about, relishing in the cold weather and cloudy days, they were unnaturally quiet. Every time she saw the clusters of pale, graceful kids, she felt a spasm of loneliness and fear, missing her loud neighborhood with screaming and laughter and profanity while skirting around her new neighborhood's tendencies. Even _Josh_ , irritating, know-it-all, moody Josh, had friends, while Amanda was left alone.

 _This is stupid,_ she thought fiercely, picking out the shredded remains of a dry leaf out of her scraped elbow. Tears sprang to her eyes. _This is so stupid, this entire place. All the people—I hate them._ Grinding her teeth, she pushed herself onto her knees and when she went to stand, she scraped her shoe on something stony. Startled, she shifted and looked over her shoulder.

Dozens of long, crooked shapes rose out of the bed of matted leaves, evenly spaced about. At first, she couldn't figure out what a giant Lego would be doing in the woods, because that's what it looked like. It took her a minute to realize what they were—headstones. _Grave markers._ As in dead bodies underneath the soggy ground, someone's loved ones lying under the ground, rotting away.

Her stomach lurched ferociously as she stared at them, hundreds of them, a sea of broken, crumbling arches, with washed-off letters or dates. She got to her knees and stared at the chipped letters that read "196…in loving mem…Jas…n", feeling her heart shatter in a million fragments at the sight of kids her age, maybe older, her grandparents age, left to rot in this desolate forest without any type of daily maintenance.

 _In loving memory my ass,_ she thought, pressing her fingertips against the etching, feeling tiny crumbs of stone fall onto her skinned knee. Wincing as they did, she noticed the dark shape drifting between the trees, a very _human_ shape.

"Hello?" she called out to the figure, squinting into the glare of the sun. A cloud drifted across its glare, and she frowned when the figure seemingly vanished out of thin air, stepping behind a tree and never re-emerging. Dusting off her legs, she stood and walked slowly in the direction of the tree where the figure had hidden behind. She peered around the side and found no one.

Unsettled, she turned and headed back the way she'd come, humming softly to herself as she tested each step for hidden roots and logs. As she broke the tree line, she squinted down the road and spotted a stooped figure sitting on one of the porch steps that remained standing. Her feet slowed to a sluggish pace as her mind flew through the possibilities of who'd be sitting on her porch steps.

Mr. Benson was down at the local barbershop, getting his haircut, and Mrs. Benson was grocery shopping, having dragged a kicking, screaming Josh along ("mother-son bonding," she declared) so that smothered those possibilities.

As she drew closer and closer, she could make out a shock of vivid hair, long legs. Definitely male, if the sagging pants with an obnoxious tuft of fabric above the waistline was any indicator. A flash of bone white as he lifted his hand to his face.

Her steps slowed to a walk, dragging on the asphalt beneath her. Thick, harsh words gummed up her throat and made it hard to breathe, her nostrils flaring with every breath.

 _We_ aren't _crazy._

 _It's not like an outsider like_ you _would understand. Ray and I have been friends for years, all of us have._ We're _family._

 _She needs to learn her place, Ray._

Then, the whispers. Cruel comments.

 _That hair, so stringy and flat._

 _That skin, too tan to be natural._

 _I heard she's a lesbian._

 _She doesn't shave her legs, that's so gross!_

 _How can she bear to wear all those layers? It's so nice out!_

She gritted her teeth angrily and stomped up the driveway, yanking her hair into a droopy ponytail.

The figure on the steps stood up, wiping his hands on his t-shirt. Long, muscular legs encased with basketball shorts and ending in scuffed white sneakers that looked years old.

Sneering, she looked into the face and froze.

Pale eyelashes framed his pale lace-cap eyes.

Ray offered a tiny smile but Amanda didn't smile back.


	7. Chapter 7

Just a Little Luck

7

"What do you want?" Amanda spat and his lace-cap eyes grew dark and sad, like she'd hurt him with her words.

 _That's what he gets;_ she thought viciously and marched past him up the stairs. Not wanting to let him know she was home alone, she refrained from unlocking the door and instead faced him with a cold look fixed firmly on her face.

"Well?" she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest while she discreetly glanced up and down the street for either parent's car. The street was deserted.

"I'm…sorry," Ray said finally.

She stared at him, a rush of anger and disbelief rolling through her. He apologized. He _apologized._ After months of ignoring her, pretending not to hear the mean things they said about her, not even acknowledging her, he _apologized._ Her stomach seized, twisting violently, and she was horrified to feel her face heat up.

"You're _sorry_?" she repeated, ignoring the way her voice cracked, trying to enthuse her tone with as much malice as she could.

"Leave." Leveling her eyes with his, she was met with intense hydrangeas, pale blue, robin eggs.

His hand touched her cheek, icy, and she shivered at the sensation. Goosebumps pebbled her arms and legs and his hand dropped away to stroke the length of her bare arm. Her heart rate sped up as his cool fingers wrapped around her wrist.

"Amanda," he murmured, his voice like crushed velvet, seductive, and she jerked away, tripping.

How could she have fallen under his stupid, blue-eyed spell? Breathing deeply, she avoided looking into his eyes and said, "I'd like you to leave."

Her lips trembled and she could feel tears pool in the backs of her eyes. Her hands shook, so she buried them deep into her pockets. "Leave, Ray."

"Aman—" he tried, starting forward.

She turned her head away and shoved him, her hands touching his chest for a brief second—it was as cold as his hands had been—and watched him fall down the steps, landing in a misshapen heat, his feet up on the stairs. She thought of all bad memories that made her angry and her voice came out cold and vicious. " _I said fucking leave!"_ she hissed. "Get the hell away, before my dad shows up and beats you up."

Ray hesitated; looking crushed, and then got to his feet, staring forlornly up at her. A slight beam of sun broke through the clouds and he hissed.

She watched on in mute horror as the skin of his pale arm bubbled and burnt within seconds, going from porcelain to charred. "I…I could bandage that, if you want me to," she offered weakly, trying hard to keep the hope out of her voice—she just sent him away, hadn't she?—and she wrung her hands.

"I'd love to stay and have you bandage me like a good, sexy nurse, but I gotta jet," he said softly and bolted out of sight much faster than she thought possible.

A few minutes later, her mom's suburban pulled into the driveway and Josh came out, sulking, carrying to white grocery bags.

Amanda gazed blankly at him and was jarred from her trance when Mrs. Benson shook her shoulder. "Sorry," she apologized quietly as she unlocked the door for her mother and brother, "I was thinking."

Turning away from where he'd been setting the bags down, Josh sneered, "You have a brain?"

Amanda rolled her eyes and headed down the stairs to help Mrs. Benson unload. On her walk, Josh passed her, and she made sure to bump him as hard as she could with the bags.

He cried out. "Mom!" he whined. "Amanda hit me!"

"I was carrying the bags. How could I have hit you?" she asked condescendingly from the kitchen as she unloaded the bags and began to put the groceries in the proper places.

"You cow," Josh hissed under his breath.

Amanda pretended not to hear him and gave him a wide berth when he came in. While he carried in the groceries, she opened pantries and cupboards and the fridge to place pop-tarts, soup cans, spices, milk, eggs, and butter in their proper places.

 _Amanda. Amanda._ Ray's voice echoed inside her head like a broken record.

She put away the pop-tarts. _Amanda, Amanda. His hands on her arm, tracing the veins._

She stacked soup cans on top of each other. _His cold fingers on her cheek, cupping it gently, like she's going to break._

Teetering on a chair, she put the spices in the cupboard, praying she didn't fall. _His lace cap eyes, dark and sad, turned down to his feet._

Balancing the eggs on top of the butter carton and the milk jug with her middle and ring finger, she opened the fridge. _The crushed look on his face._

Amanda turned away and gathered the empty grocery bags. _His skin blistering when the sun touched it, charring, bubbling and boiling like a burn from oil._

Kicking the door closed, grocery bags buried at the closet's bottom, she muttered something that sounded like an excuse to her mother and headed upstairs to think in the hot spray of the shower. _His chest, cold and hard, under her fingers as she shoved him away, down the steps._

She stepped into the bathroom and stripped down. _He lay crumpled on the pavement, staring up at her like a wounded puppy, his eyes looking like oceans._

The water hit her skin when she stepped into the spray, nude now, and she shivered against the frigid torrent. _Amanda,_ he had sighed. Her name was like a prayer or a moan; it was hard to tell. _Amanda, Amanda, Amanda,_ he had moaned/prayed.

She fumbled with the faucet and turned it to "hot" until the knob wouldn't budge. A scalding cascade hit her skin. She could still feel his hand on her arm, stroking, and his hand on her cheek. _I'm sorry, Amanda. Amanda. Amanda._ Her teeth chattered as she stood there, tilting her face into the burning water, sputtering when it ran into her eyes.

 _Amanda, Amanda, Am—_

"Amanda, dinner!" Josh yelled as he pounded on the door.

Amanda closed her eyes. "Coming!"


	8. Chapter 8

Just a Little Luck

8

School was an absolute nightmare.

Amanda kept thinking about Ray's sad lace-cap eyes whenever she saw him in class and when they crossed paths in the hallways.

Josephine never said anything to her after that outburst the first time they met, but Amanda had a nagging feeling that there was more than meets the eye to the pixie of a girl, something hiding behind her full Lolita-esque skirts and demure smiles.

The teachers eventually quit tittering about her and her family, and the kids in her school ignored her too. It was like she wasn't there, and it wasn't just the kids that ignored her. The teachers did too. When she raised her hand to answer a question, they skipped over her and acted like she wasn't there. The lunch ladies skipped over her in the line, so she started to bring lunch.

Mrs. Benson was too busy driving Josh to his friends' houses and his soccer games to notice Amanda's lack of enthusiasm for anything. Mr. Benson was away for work most of the time.

 _Nobody notices,_ Amanda thought darkly one afternoon when she came home and the house was dead silent.

In the kitchen sat a black pot on the stovetop, even though it was off. A little yellow sticky-note was on the fridge's surface.

 _Gone to Josh's soccer game. Dinner's on the stove, just heat it up. Dad will be back at ten-thirty. Do your homework and be in bed by nine. —Love, Mom._

Amanda crushed the note and balled it up while she propped up the lid of the pot to peer into it. Milky film covered the surface of the soup, and from the smell, it was a beef stew. Since Mrs. Benson was in such a hurry all the time, she normally threw a Campbells soup in a pot, cooked it, ate with Josh before his games and practices, and then left it cold on the stove for Amanda to eat by herself.

Ignoring the soup, she strode towards the fridge, pulled out the chocolate cake her mom had bought a few days ago, and cut off a generous slice because there was nothing like getting a chocolate fix while you're home alone. After plating it, she found a moderately clean fork—the dishes were left to her, too—and dug in like a pig, ignoring the smearing of the chocolate frosting around her face and the way she was being totally uncultured but there was no one there to judge her.

As she chowed down, she slid the cake back into the fridge and dumped the rumpled sheets of paper onto the table from her backpack one-handedly. She sorted through them until she found her English and history homework and used a pen from the desk to scrawl some answers that didn't really matter because the teachers never asked for her work anymore. It was mainly more for show.

Once she'd gobbled down the cake slice, she licked her lips and fork and kicked off her sneakers on the way to the stairs, where she promptly stripped, pulled on her pajamas, and promptly turned on the TV in her room to watch some dog shows. She couldn't decide between _Pitbulls and Parolees_ and a documentary about a puppy becoming a service dog while she lounged in her bed.

Hearing about some of the dogs' stories, about them being abandoned, that had her thinking about all the whispers the first week of school, the stares following her for most of those seven days, and then the abrupt silence, the gazes skipping right passed her like she wasn't there, like she didn't exist anymore. Nobody spoke to her all day every day. Her mom was never home anymore because she was driving Josh everywhere and going to all his games. Her dad was in meetings day in day out so nobody really saw him anymore.

 _It's not like an outsider like_ you _would understand. Ray and I have been friends for_ yearsIf she concentrated, she could imagine that smug smile on Josephine's face, her pixie-hair haloed around her small face. Amanda clenched her hands into fists and stared at her pink-and-purple bedspread. _It's not crazy._ Josephine's hand on his arm the first day, laughing, twirling her hair, batting her eyelashes.

Amanda pressed her face into the pillow and screamed. He wasn't her boyfriend or anything so why did she keep thinking about Josephine putting her hand on him and getting mad about it? _She's a total bitch, that's why. And Ray did nothing to defend you, at all, from his so-called "family". I don't need him to defend me,_ she fumed, twisting onto her side to glare at her door, _but it would be nice to have at least_ one _person on my side that doesn't treat me like I have yellow fever or something. And it doesn't help that I have no one to talk to; Mom's always busy with Josh and Dad's always at work nowadays._

She sat up, turned off the TV, and walked over to her desk, where she unlocked a tiny drawer with a key she kept around her neck at all times and pulled out a tiny spiral notebook. _It's like they've completely forgotten that they have another kid. Maybe Mom only wanted a boy._ Using her favorite pink pen, she shuffled back to her bed, sat down on the edge, pulled her feet up underneath her and began to write.

With every word she scrawled, she felt a deep, bone-aching sadness creep up over her, so bad it made her hand shake and tears fall down onto the paper. Unlike most entries, most of them being marginally very happy passages, the things she wrote made her feel even worse, like a heavy weight being thrown onto her shoulders until she would be crushed. She wrote about Josh mocking her lack of friends, about how the kids at school ignored her, about how her mom only cared about Josh and her dad was never home, about how she hated this cold, little town, about how she felt like a freak, about how she wished Ray would just fade into the background and quit haunting her.

By the time she was done, it was just beginning to get dark and her eyes burned so she decided to go to bed early. She placed her diary back in the drawer, locked it, and shut her door without brushing her teeth. After she closed her blind, she pulled back the covers and laid her head down, listening to the loud insects outside in the grass and the sounds of cars passing by.

She hoped tomorrow would be better.


	9. Chapter 9

Just a Little Luck

9

What woke her up the next morning wasn't her alarm clock but a scratching noise from outside her window. At first, she thought it was just some dead branches but it got louder and louder until she knew it wasn't a tree.

Every horror movie she'd ever watched flashed through her brain as she grabbed her phone, flicked on her desk light, and pulled back the covers. In the silence of the house, aside from her mom's snores, Amanda felt isolated and terrified. Sweat streamed down her back and matted the hair at her temples as she crept out of the bed and hurried to the window.

When she pulled back the curtains, she saw nothing and her anxiety dropped. It could've been a squirrel climbing the screen or just a figment of her imagination. Satisfied, she let the curtains drop back into place but froze as she spotted two yellow eyes watching her from the darkness of her dad's garden.

A pair of headlights cut across the yard and illuminating the figure of a little cat watching her curiously. Laughing to herself at how easily her imagination got carried away, she crawled back into bed and pressed her sweaty face into the cool fabric of her pillowcase.

The tapping continued as she lay there for the longest time, her back to the rest of the room. Cold ice flooded her system and she curled up tighter, feeling the hairs on her arms stand at attention. _Nothing's there,_ she told herself, refusing to drag her eyes away from their spot on the wall in case something _was_ there. The tapping got louder and louder, shaking the window pane and the screen. Her stomach twisted violently as sweat dampened her armpits and thighs and wet her back.

"Knock, knock," a low voice laughed and every muscle in her body froze, blood draining from her face. "I can hear you breathing. You're not very good at hiding." There was a creak, like someone shifting their weight, and her heart started to beat frantically, a frightened animal's heartbeat thudding against her chest. Her bladder threatened to give way and she prayed to god she didn't pee herself.

Something cold touched her spine, drew up across her shoulder blades, and pulled some hair away from her neck. "You smell—"

A loud, shrill scream exploded out of her, knocking both the intruder and herself aback with surprise, and she tore out of the bed, smashing her elbow on the corner of her nightstand in her frantic scrambling. "Daddy!" she yelled at the top of her lungs as she turned on the light and faced the man in her room.

He was shorter than her and skeletally thin, the face of an anorexia nervosa victim—sunken eyes, shiny, yellow skin, with rotted teeth and thin lips—staring back at her; his eyes followed her hungrily from within the pits of his eye sockets. In his hands he held a long hunting knife, turning it round and round in his fingers. "Must you be so noisy? Girls are to be quiet, demure," the man complained and she watched him warily as he sighed and began to walk toward her.

"Amanda?" There was a loud crack as her dad kicked in her door and rushed in, wielding the handgun.

"Daddy!" she screamed again as the strange man turned and simply raised a brow at her dad and then he lunged, suddenly, all at once. The screaming in her throat made her head throb as she darted out of his way, scrambling for purchase on the ground. She tripped and fell face-first, never stopping her incessant screams, and bony, icy fingers wrapped around her ankle.

She kicked once, twice, and she saw the knife fall out of his hand as she twisted in time to see him fall backwards. Her father rushed in further and fired off several rounds, blowing holes in the wall and the window. She screamed even louder, this time cursing, and pulled herself away from the stranger.

"Amanda!" It was Josh at the door now, running forward to pull her into his arms and they crashed into each other, tumbling into the hall in a heap. When they stopped, she untangled herself from her little brother and frantically shoved herself to her feet.

"Dad!"

Her dad was wrestling with the guy, trying to push him off balance so he could overpower him, probably to subdue him like the cop he'd once been. Back and forth, circling again and again, like an endless carousel. Her dad's grunts and the creaking of the old floorboards were the only sounds in the room; the intruder wasn't saying anything.

His eyes flashed to Amanda over her dad's shoulder as he smiled and dropped back abruptly. The tall, lanky silhouette of him against the backdrop of moonlight made her stomach twist, wondering what he was going to do.

"Stop right there," her dad barked but the guy ignored him and kept backing up until he was flush with the window.

It took her less than a second to realize what the man planned to do. "Dad, he's—" she started to yell but in the time it took her to do so, her dad had shot off several rounds next to the man's head.

"Next time it's in _you_ ," he hissed.

"Are you so sure about that?" the man responded, licking his lips slowly as he raised a single brow. He took a half-step forward and the gun went off again.

Amanda watched on in horror as the man kept coming, despite the face he'd been _shot_ in the thigh. And then, just as suddenly as he'd been advancing, he spun on his heel and ran—her scream wailed out of her with enough force to make her breathless—gunshot after gunshot exploded, shattering the window—his dark shape hit the window, the force cracking the dogs and the glass gave way with a crash.

Her dad sprinted over and leaned out the window. Amanda ran over, too, and swept away some of the glass using the bottom of her shirt. A still figure lay in the dead grass, surrounded by glass.

In the distance, there were sirens and her heart stopped thumping loud enough to drown out her dad's reassurances. Still, she kept glancing at the dead body in the backyard, her skin covered in goosebumps from a chill that was bone-deep.


	10. Chapter 10

Just a Little Luck

10

When the police showed up, Amanda noticed all their neighbors were in the street. Her mother and father were talking quietly to another couple and Josh was showing Petey off to his friends.

A chill raced through her, followed by the flush of anger. It was like they didn't care at all; no one was asking her if she was okay, if that man had touched her. _Just another day in hell, I guess,_ she thought darkly to herself as she turned and walked back into the house to grab a cardigan.

"Amanda? Where are you going?" her dad asked.

"I'm going to go hang myself, maybe you'll notice," she muttered under her breath and then, louder, "I'm getting a cardigan." Belatedly, she realized she wasn't wearing a bra and the neighbor boys were staring at her with a mix of half-shock, half-lust. She turned on her heel and hurried into the house.

Walking up the stairs made her break out into a hot sweat. Unease churned in her stomach. Her hands shook as she heard the sirens get closer and closer, louder too. Bile burned her throat as she walked up the long set of stairs, the floorboards squeaking under her weight.

As she stepped into her room, her eyes flicked to the bullet holes. She swallowed hard against the vomit that started to climb up her throat, hot and acidic. Her back beaded with sweat, wetting the back of her shirt. With every step, her heart thumped louder and heavier against her chest. Hands shaking, she reached the long, dark hallway. A rush of vomit filled her mouth and she turned away, hurrying to the bathroom where she spit it into the sink.

Her reflection was wild-eyed, a sheen of sweat making her face shiny, and her hair was dark with it, hanging limply from her ponytail. Her tank was wet and dark and it made her look unnaturally orange-y.

Sucking her lips into her mouth, tight against her teeth, she pushed away from the sink and headed back down the hall. The floorboards felt gritty and cold under her bare feet as she neared her room.

The door was still hanging ajar and icy fear trailed down her spine; her mouth tasted like vomit again. As she stepped close to her bed, the blankets and sheets still rumpled on the floor and her pillow hanging precariously on the edge of the bed, she could see the blue-and-red flashes from the police lights illuminating the side yard and the backyard, throwing the dark shadows into high relief.

Tearing her eyes away from the mass of tangled blankets, fearing the terror would eat her alive, she hurried over to the closet and threw it open. The shadows made her break out in a worse sweat, a fresh wave on top of the drying sheen, and she grabbed the first sweatshirt her fingers fell on.

As she turned to spring out, she spotted something in the darkest corner. _No,_ she thought, her mouth dropping open as she sucked in a gulp of air, her eyes wide with horror, _I just_ saw _him fall out the window._ A well-timed flash of police lights illuminated her room and the imaginary figure, which turned out to be nothing at all, just shadows playing tricks on her.

Still, she was shaking worse than when she'd entered as she turned on her heel and _ran._ Tearing down the hallway, stumbling down the stairs, her already bad eyesight was blurred with the onslaught of hot, burning tears. On the last step, she miscalculated the step itself and fell, hard, her cheek connection with the floor with a loud crack that had her eyes filling again.

A low moan made her bolt upright, ignoring the flash of bright pain in her face as she did so, feeling the pain throb deeply, and then she ran again, ignoring the way her stomach threatened to empty again.

When she reached the door, she let out a low gasp of relief and pushed it open, blinded by the headlights and the flashing police lights.

Mrs. Benson raised her head, her face tight and drawn in the back and forth shadows from the flashing lights. "Amanda?" she called, her tone and voice thick with worry.

"I-I—" Amanda tried, her teeth chattering and then she yanked the sweatshirt over her head as she made her way down the steps, painfully aware of the cold concrete under her toes.

The police officer her mom had been speaking to turned to her. "What happened tonight, Amanda?" _Of course_ the officer knew her name; no need to look alarmed—this _was_ a very small town after all.

"I-I—Um." This was _not_ going how she wanted it to; she couldn't stop shaking and she could barely form a coherent word past her chattering teeth. "I-I wa-as sleeping, right? And, um, I woke up because I heard this, uh, um, n-noise, like something scraping against my window. I brushed it off, you know? But then—"

She sucked in a low breath, trying hard to quell the shivers rolling up and down her body. Her eyes stung with hot tears.

The officer nodded encouragingly.

"T-then I he-eard this voice...and this—this _hand_ touched me, brushed my hair away...it was a man. He has a knife in his hand. I thought..." Her breathing turned shaky and wheezy. She wrapped her arms around herself, pulling deep breaths carefully and slowly. Her pulse pounded in her ears as she continued quietly. "I thought he was going to _kill_ me. Hurt me. I didn't know what he wanted."

She stopped, chewed on her lip anxiously. "My dad came in because I screamed and the guy kept taunting him. Stepping forward and then—my dad _shot_ him but he—he kept going, like i-it di-idn't faze hi-im. He threw himself out the window and he's..." Finding the words wouldn't come to her, she waved in the direction of the backyard.

 _Dead_ sounded so...final...but it fit but the word tasted bitter and sour in her head even so she remained quiet. When she looked up again, feeling someone's eyes on her, she scanned the crowd and felt any breath in her lungs leave in a rush.

Arctic eyes gleamed back at her, calmly.


	11. Chapter 11

Just a Little Luck

11

Ray's white-blond hair was illuminated by the flashing police lights, blue and red and back again, but all Amanda could think was the last time they spoke, the whisper drenching his lips, his ocean eyes drowning her in the waves they created.

She swallowed hard and squared her shoulders and then she walked slowly and purposefully towards him. His eyes watched her like a predator, trailing from her bare toes, wet from the early morning's rain, up her legs, and then her face. She was certain she was white-faced with terror, and it didn't help that her voice shook when she spoke to him.

"Come to gawk?" she asked, trying hard to sound strong and cool, but the high pitch of her voice ruined it. Her lips quivered.

Ray didn't respond, only stepped closer with the liquid slink of a cat, and wrapped his long, ropey arms around her, pulling her tight against him.

A few tears escaped her eyes, and that was all it took for her composure to fissure and crack. She could feel the man's hands on her, wet, hot breath on her neck, and she clung even tighter to Ray. He smelled like BO and men's body soap, a scent that chased away the man's stench, and her legs gave way.

He folded with her, holding her just as tight, murmuring her name over and over, a prayer, reverently. "Amanda, oh, Amanda," he whispered, his cool cheek pressed against her temple.

She shook her head and shivered as the wet grass began to bleed into the fabric of her shorts and dot her leads with beads of water. Through the fabric of her sweatshirt, she felt his cold hands rub up and down her back, trailing, sensual almost.

"Amanda!" her dad called in alarm.

" _Now_ they notice," she muttered, unable to keep her bitterness from spilling out like a toxin, and pulled away, only to find herself trapped against Ray's chest. Her stomach plunged as she tilted her face up to ask him what he thought he was doing and found a soft, gentle expression.

He didn't say a word to her as he slowly pushed himself to his feet—taking her with him—and wrapped an arm around her back and front, just below her breasts. She hunched a little, uneasy as her mom and dad hurried over.

"I think the reality just hit her," Ray said quietly, his voice low and even.

"Amanda, do you know how worried we were when we couldn't find you?" Mr. Benson said. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest.

Amanda felt her heart stutter and a bitter taste fill her mouth like bile. "Josh is over there," she argued, feeling her temper flare, "but why aren't you yelling at him?"

"Because he was smart enough to tell us he was going over there, or, at the least, stay in sight," Mr. Benson explained quietly.

 _Because he was smart enough._ She felt a bone-deep sadness well up inside of her and crash. It wasn't the first time she'd been compared to her smarter younger brother, but with the events of tonight, she thought maybe they wouldn't bring it up. Her hands shook as she pressed her fingers into her legs, grinding the nails into the skin past the fabric of her pajama pants.

All her life, nothing was ever enough. Josh was smarter, stronger, friendlier; she was dumb as a brick, weak as a noddle, hated social interaction. He was the sun, as far as her parents were considered; their golden boy could never do anything wrong, even if he was acting like a little kid.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, her voice dry and monotone to her own ears, which made her wonder if anyone else heard how uncaring she sounded.

Mr. Benson relaxed slightly and said, "Just be careful, Amanda. We don't want a repeat of what happened tonight."

Anger rose inside of her and she clenched her fists. Of _course_ this was her fault; anything bad that happened to her always was. She was _asking_ for that creepy man to break into her room and whisper in her ear and trail his icy hand across her shoulder. She wanted to see the light glinting off his hunting knife, feel the terror that had coursed through her with the strength of a typhoon.

"Yes, Dad." The words tasted bitter on her tongue and it made her want to dry heave.

"Is everyone alright?" It was Mr. Dawes jogging over, wearing a pair of lounge pants and a sweater; his hair was in curlers.

"Oh, yes," Mrs. Benson responded, wrapping an arm around Mr. Benson. "We just had a break-in." She nodded once. "We were fortunate that no one was hurt."

Mr. Dawes paused, his eyes sweeping the crowd, and then they landed on Amanda, shivering and shaking against Ray. "Was he in your room?" he asked softly.

Amanda nodded despite her anger; the way her mom had spoken about the break-in made it seem like it wasn't a big deal. Maybe, to them, it was. If it was Josh, would they smother him or leave him alone?

"I know a locksmith who could change the locks and install a security system for you," Mr. Dawes said, addressing her parents but he kept glancing at her and then at Ray.

Ray's arms tightened around her as the paramedics arrived. Everyone started filing away, seeing as it was too cold, but her family, Ray, and Mr. Dawes stayed once everyone had shuffled back home. Her head was pounding and her face felt tight and tacky from crying.

A police officer holding a flashlight escorted two paramedics into the backyard and another one headed up to Amanda. "Amanda, is it? I'd like to ask you a few questions. About tonight."

She nodded.

"Did you know this man?"

"No."

"Did he...touch you anywhere?"

She hesitated. "My hair and my back."

A flash in the darkness of the shadows made her look away, spotting the officer with the flashlight scratching his head while the paramedics carried away the man, who had an oxygen mask over his face.

One of his eyes was open and stared straight at Amanda.


End file.
